His New Puppet
by Bat-Girl-1194
Summary: The Joker kidnaps Emma Ponder for ransom to "prove a point." Still undecided plot. First three chapters done. Joker/OC Good story, just can't write a summery well.
1. An Unexpected Visitor

**Ok, this is my first **_**real**_** fanfiction, so please R&R! I'm not quite sure where I'm going with the story yet, so your input is greatly appreciated. Plus I like criticism, but please don't be too harsh, 'cause I'm really shy about people reading my writing.**

**Also, sorry if there is a bunch of tense changes. I'm really bad at that.**

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I trudge the streets of Gotham City, my head down, examining my plain Converse's, it's tongue flapped out over the glowing white laces. I walk into the setting sun, past all the cranky businessmen and women hurrying home before dark. They are scared of the muggers and drunks lurking in the shadows, waiting for the unsuspecting prey to wonder alone down the dusk, dirty streets. I'm not worried; I'm nearly home. My building towers above the rest of them, one of the tallest for miles, excluding Wayne Enterprises.

I dodge traffic and cross the street, too eager to get out of the heat to wait for a red light. Nearly there now, closer to the dungeon I call home.

Most wouldn't call it a dungeon, and my friends think I'm crazy when I even imply my dislike. I share a building with Bruce Wayne, _Bruce Wayne_, the prince of Gotham. He lives only a floor above me and most think this is a miracle, a gift, whatever. Well, I did too, at first. Then when I realized what a pain it was to get past all the paparazzi and screaming fans outside the lobby on the occasion that he would publicly get into his limo or scratch his ass, I realized that I lived in hell. But that didn't stop everyone at my school from begging for me to let them come over because we have "so much in common" or we're "bff's!". Hey, I'd gladly switch places with them any day.

I enter the building in peace, nobody there to stalk my apartment complex. I saunter to the elevator, taking my time now that I know I am safe from the murderers or rapists or, worse, fan girls. I push the button for an elevator and wait patiently.

Then Bruce Wayne himself steps out of the elevator. I won't lie and say I don't find him attractive. He's gorgeous, his beautiful brown eyes, his chocolate-colored hair, his muscular body. The very sight of him is breathtaking, and although I try not to judge one too much by appearances, I couldn't help but fall in love the first time I saw him. He smiles slightly when he sees me.

"Emily," he greets and nods a little.

"It's Emma," I hiss under my breath, but plaster on a smile and step into the elevator.

I push the button for my floor and as the doors slide closed calm music and mirrors greet me so I'm reflected millions of times. I peer at myself to occupy the time, looking deep into my jade eyes. Straight brown hair frames my pale face. I got layers to try and make my hair look at least a bit thicker, which did virtually nothing. Then I land on my floor and step into the silent, boring hallway.

The floors are covered in red carpet and I always feel like I wandered into a Ritz or Hilton hotel. There are small tables with plants on them and each door leading down has a number on it. I reach in my pocket and pull out a small silver key, which unlocks the first door on the right. Then I enter my dungeon.

Naturally I call out "I'm home!" and when there's no reply I shut the door and drop my backpack where I'm standing. Then I trudge through the living room with Micro suede couches and a plasma TV, which hangs above a fake fireplace. I enter a short hallway and turn left into my room.

There are still unopened boxes from when we moved in five years ago, stacked in the corner next to the closet. My clothes litter the floor and my bed consists of a mattress with no frame. "I'm sorry," my mother always says, "We've just been so busy. I'll call someone tomorrow and have them put it up for you. Ok, sweetie?" But, as you can tell, I still sleep on a mattress.

I have a laptop on my bed and a pile of books in an open box. I empty the contents of my pockets on my bed, then jump down next to them. A _huff_ escapes my lips as the air is knocked out of me, but I shake my head slightly and open my computer.

"_Spam, spam, spam." _I read off my e-mail and send each message to my beloved _spam_ folder, which now has a total content of 487. Then I reach Anna's letter, the one I get every Friday announcing the evening's plans. I already know it's bad news by the cheeriness of the title:

_**Evening of fun!**_

_Oh, my dearest Emma, I cannot wait until tonight. I could not think of anything TOO exciting, so I'm coming over at seven and we're staying up all night watching movies!!!! Go order pizza!!!! 3 3 3_

_XOXOXOXOX_

_Yours Truly_

Oh God.

I look at the clock in mild horror. Six fifty-five, leaving five minutes alone before I'm joined by the Ellen DeGeneres act-alike; hyper and very rich. I shut the lid and run into the bathroom to take care of personal business. I hear a knock at the door while I'm washing my hands. I shake water droplets everywhere and run to answer only on her fiftieth knock.

The door opens to reveal a short blond with wide blue eyes and a Prada clutch in her manicured hands. She smiles to reveal straight white teeth.

"Emma, darling," she says, throwing her arms around me and faking a poor British accent. I stare into the hallway over her shoulder, my eyebrows pressed together and my lips in a line. A woman walking by laughs. Finally Anna unhooks herself from me and enters my humble abode. "Where's the pizza?"

"Haven't ordered it yet."

She pouts momentarily. "Didn't you get my message?"

"Yeah, but I was-" I began, but was cut short by her cell gluing itself to her ear. She holds up a finger to keep me from continuing.

"Yes, hello, I'd like one… two… hang on." She looks at me expectantly. "One pizza or two?"

"One!" I exclaim, unsure of how we could possibly eat two pizzas alone. She nods.

"Yes, good idea. I've been trying to cut down on the pounds." She pats her flat belly and begins talking again. I shake my head as if to say "what the hell is wrong with you?" then leave the room and enter the kitchen.

As I suspect, a note sits alone on the granite countertop, next to the stainless steel refrigerator. I read it while I reach in for some sodas.

_**Emma**_

_Your father and I have gone to California for a week or so. So sorry, urgent business. Money is on the coffee table. If you have any questions Mr. Johnson is aware you are alone._

Oh, _that's_ reassuring. My mind flashes to an image of the creepy old next-door-neighbor with barely any hair left except for a whiff in the front that he insists on brushing back whenever there is an awkward silence.

_I have my phone but only call for emergencies._

_Be back soon,_

_Mom + Dad_

I stopped being surprised by these random trips long ago. I grab two crème sodas and find my way back to the living room. Anna shuts her phone.

"Yes," she says and grabs a soda. "Thanks, darling."

"What's with this 'darling' nonsense?" I ask as I pop the lid off my soda and lean against the back of a couch.

"Nonsense?" She snaps. "Plenty of fine women say darling." I hold back a "but your not a fine woman" and nod. "Besides, you are darling." She's doing her girly thing again. I nod as if in agreement, then pull myself over the couch and sit next to her. "So what shall we do until the pizza gets here?" She asks.

I shrug. I want her gone, but I'd tried dismissing our Friday plans once before. Let's just say, I have no intention of repeating it.

"Oh I know! Let's go through your parent's room! They aren't here, right?" She jumps up and moves towards their room. I don't bother trying to stop her, but I'm not exactly thrilled about her acting like I don't care about anything at all. Besides, I'd been through their room once in eighth grade. Finding a few condoms in their bed-side table was enough to make me never want to go in there again, or search for anything dirtier than that. But I'm sure that if Anna finds something nasty she'll call me in right away. I rub my face in my hands then place my fingers over my mouth and breath between them and go to my happy place of elementary school fairs and horse rides on my grandpa's farm.

I am distracted from my thoughts when there is a knock at the door. "Anna, pizza!" I call, hoping that will keep her from making too much of a mess in my parents room.

"Get it!" She calls back. I stand up meekly and grudgingly walk to the door. My hand wraps around the doorknob and I turn.

The door is shoved towards me from the person on the other side. It hits me in the head and I let out a short scream of surprise as I fall to the ground. Three men in clown masks run through the now open door, and following them slowly is a clown in a purple suit, his mask more frightening than the rest. The first clown grabs me and lifts me up, then holds my hand together behind my back. I don't scream or fight, but I try to wrap my mind around the situation. Before I know it I'm being dragged out towards the hallway.

"Wait," comes a voice, high-pitched and harsh, yet at the same time quite as if he doesn't want to draw attention. He walks around the clowns and looks at me square in the face. I gap at him. I know him. My father warned me once to beware this insane man, and showed me his picture. He drove Gotham into a frenzy only a few months ago, but I never expected he'd escape Arkham, let alone go after me. "Who else is here?" The Joker asks me, and I realize then I'm in more danger than I've ever imagined I could possibly be in. The Joker has me in his grasp. He's the puppeteer and I'm his brand new puppet.


	2. Red as Blood

**Enjoy Chapter Two. Things will get darker and creepier in the next chapter. Please R&R!**

**Disclaimer:**

**I do not own Batman in any way. I know, it's depressing, but it's true. This is all the genius work of all the brilliant people behind DC Comics, all of the movies (especially the Dark Knight) and... yup whomever else. So, enjoy.**

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I stare at the Joker without speaking, my mouth slightly open and my eyes wide. I'd never seen him in person and never wanted to. His smell makes me want to vomit as I breathe in metal and salt, and realize with a jolt to my stomach that there is blood splattered on his green vest. He isn't wearing a mask, like I had first suspected. Instead white makeup covers his face, but it is cracked a bit and bleeds into the black surrounding his eyes and the red that acts as lipstick tracing the scars leading from the corners of his mouth to mid-face, creating a permanent smile. I am speechless with fear and shock, completely confused about how this happened, about what is going on. He grabs my face in his gloved hands.

"Who else is here?" He repeats, his teeth yellow and his breath rotting. I shake my head in small, quick motions.

"N-no one," I stutter, my voice quivering with my obvious fear. He smiles and turns away from me. A clown closes the door so we're all enclosed in my apartment, in my living room, in my personal space. I open and close my mouth as if I'm about to speak, but no words come to mind. He pulls out a knife and walks (with a slight dance to his step) down the hall and begins opening doors. He disappears behind the first one and spends about ten seconds in the bathroom. I hear the shower curtain crinkle and the towel closet open and close, then he moves to my room. By this time I am having trouble breathing. My eyes fix on the door Anna is behind and I scream in my head, with the impossible hope that she gets my message to call the police and hide. I close my eyes and try to breath slowly though my nose, but my breaths are quick and my chest rises up and down with each panicked pant.

I know he left my room and can hear his steps towards my parent's bedroom, where Anna is behind, defenseless and probably just as scared as me. I hear the door creak open and I stop breathing altogether. My head becomes light and I use all my strength to hold it up. I can't help but open my eyes and stare, awaiting what will happen next. For a few seconds there is silence, then I hear the unmistakable sound of Anna's scream. There is silence, then a sound that truly terrifies me. I heard a gurgle, the kind one would hear when someone is gargling salt-water, a heavy thump, then silence.

My knees feel weak and I want more than anything to fall onto the ground and these freaks leave me alone. Next I hear something heavy being dragged across the floor. I close my eyes and bow my head, not wanting to see whatever it was. It gets closer and closer and I squeeze my eyes shut so tight I fear my eyelids will rip. Then it stops in front of me.

"Open your eyes," The Joker commands. I don't want to, but my fear of what will happen if I refuse takes over and my eyes open before I can think twice about my decision. Immediately I wish I hadn't.

I stare into the face of my dead friend. First I see the blood, the scarlet blood oozing through her hair, staining her clothes, dripping from her sliced throat. Her face grows paler by the second and her body is sprawled out. There is a trial of blood leading from my parent's room. I choke back on my fear and I feel my body shake violently. Although I find the sight sickening, I can't look away. I don't feel guilty; I don't feel anything. My body falls into a complete state of shock. My heart thumps in my ear, craving attention and drowning out the sound of my harsh breaths. The Joker speaks again.

"This is what happens when you try to trick me," he says. "Don't let it happen again." He steps around me and out the door without a second thought, or a regret of murdering an innocent girl. I feel a tug on my arms and I am dragged out of my home, away from my friend. I want to run to her and apologize. I feel she needs to know, and I know I'll never see her again; I'll never get another chance to explain myself. But I'm pulled out of view and I bring my eyes to the Joker standing in the elevator. I'm pulled in.

The elevator music seems strangely out of place at a time like this. I keep my eyes glued to the floor and the music hums in my ears. The image of my dead friend is burned onto my eyes, and the red carpet doesn't help shake away the memory of pools of blood.

When we get close to the lobby the Joker grabs me by the head and sticks a blade to my throat. I whimper and naturally try to pull away, but he pulls me closer. I whimper again.

"Shh," he says, as if trying to calm a screaming baby. I try to dislodge the lump in my throat and clear the ringing from my ears. Then the elevator doors open. "Behave," he whispers as we step out.

A woman screams and I realize I'm nothing more than a hostage. I wonder if they'll kill me when I've made my use, then I wonder what my use will be.

I follow the clowns in front of me and realize with a jolt of fear that this might be the last time I see my apartment building. I stop walking for a moment when we get out the front door, but the Joker ushers me along impatiently. I am having a difficult time breathing again, and I look frantically around for someone who can save me. A van pulls up and a clown opens the sliding side door. I scream as the Joker lifts me up off the ground and tries to shove me through. My feet plant firmly to the outside of the car and I push with all my might on my legs. A clown shoves them out of the way and I lose my grip on the one thing that might save me. I am thrown onto the cold metal floor of the van.

It smells like gasoline and there are no seats in the back, just a few barrels of a clear liquid chained to the side to keep from spilling. I am shoved further into the car and situate myself in the corner behind the drivers seat. One clown sits in the passenger's seat, and the rest pile into the back. Before the doors even close all the way, the van moves.

A masked clown approaches me and grabs my arm. I try to squirm away but his grasp is hard and painful. He pulls out a needle and I scream. I bring my foot up and kick him as hard as I can in his chest, but he seems unaffected. He jabs the needle into my wrist and immediately my vision grows foggy. I jerk away as soon as the needle is empty and rub my arm. My body grows weak and tired. My head droops and everything becomes blurry. _This is a terrible time to sleep_, I think bitterly. _No, I was just drugged. Fight it. Fight… it…_ The darkness comes like a blanket over the stressful world around me, and I am safe in my head.

I don't have a dream, and when I wake up I barely feel like I've slept. At first I have no idea where I am, and after a few minutes of allowing my eyes to adjust I still have no idea where I am. I am lying on a slightly soggy mattress and I smell mold right next to my nose. My arms aren't restrained, nor are my legs. My head feels heavy and I find it difficult to move my body. I'm still wearing dark denim jeans and a black v-neck tee shirt, but my shoes have been removed. I remember being kidnapped, I remember seeing Anna's lifeless body on my living room floor, I remember being thrown into a van, but after that my mind goes fuzzy. I sit up slowly and look around the room in an intense state of panic.

There is a faint glow issuing from under a door about twenty feet in front of me which throws light upon the cement floor. Its smells musty and wet, like a damp towel rolled in a ball for a week. It reminds me of a basement. I listen intently but can hear nothing, absolutely nothing. I pull myself up and my knees wobble dangerously. I want something to grip for support but my fingers enclose around nothing. I take a step, then another, careful to firmly place my feet on the ground so I don't fall over. The last thing I need is a concussion. Then I reach the door.

Unsurprisingly the door is locked. I drop to the floor and peer under the crack. The light is blinding at first, but after only a second I am peering down a brightly lit hallway that ends after only about seven feet and turns left. There are two doors on the right and one straight ahead. I don't see or hear any people.

_Is this what they're doing with me? _I think bitterly, sitting back up and leaning against the door. _Leaving me here to starve?_ I feel that is rather poor taste but much prefer it to being tortured or brutally murdered. Then my stomach heaves, and I remind myself that those options aren't necessarily ruled out. I shake my head and think of something else.

_Why have they taken me? I'm not famous, or important, or wanted by the gang. My father is rich, yes, but… well, that's not a bad option. I might be kidnapped for ransom. Oh, please, please don't hurt me. _I close my eyes and allow the built up tears to fall. They weave their way down my face and plop on my lap. I do my best to remain silent, terrified of what they would possibly do to me if I am too loud. I think back to school when my teacher told us what to do if a stranger offers a car ride home or tells us they lost a puppy or they have candy, etc. Yell "Stranger danger!" they said, and run to the police. But that doesn't seem entirely appropriate now, so instead I picture my mothers face, and imagine what she would say.

"Sweetie, stay calm. Your father and I will pay your ransom just as soon as we get back from our meeting in California."

Ok, no, did not help. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth and imagine my father's words.

"Don't bother me, I'm working."

I slam my head against the door in frustration with an echoing _bang_. I bite down hard on my lip, waiting for someone to come smack me really hard across the face or for the Joker to stick another blade at my throat. After a few minutes of silence I continue with my thoughts.

I know all my friends would scream and cry and beg for mercy. I suppose I'm doing the crying part, but I don't think screaming or kissing the feet of the most psychopathic murderer in the city are exactly good ideas.

_It could be worse, _I tell myself. _At least I'm alive._ But is being alive really better? I don't know yet, and hopefully I won't know for a while.

My heart freezes when I hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming down the hall. I scamper away from the door and onto the mattress. The footsteps draw nearer and my fear grows stronger. I breath in deeply and exhale in short, quick huffs. The steps stop at my door and I close my eyes and allow one more tear to fall. Then I wipe them away and tell myself to stay brave. Crying will do nothing but make a mess.

The door opens and I'm blinded by light. So this is the end. No, it's the beginning of the end. Soon, who knows what will happen. I place my hand over my eyes and blink franticly, then wait for what whatever comes next.


	3. The Point

**Sorry it took so long to get this one up. Hope you like it. I'm trying my best to keep the Joker in character but it's freaking hard man. Anyway, please review. I love feedback even if I'm too busy to reply, and I can always use tips on improvement.**

**_Disclaimer_**

**The Joker isn't mine. Ha ha, I wish he was!**

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I hear the footsteps draw nearer to me. I am being lifted up before my eyes properly adjust to the surroundings, my arm high above my head, soon followed by the rest of my body.

"No," I plead. "Please." My cries are pointless, I know, but I can't help but beg for my life even though I told myself to stay strong. Why be strong in a situation like this? I let myself droop as the man holding me pulls me out of the room and for a few steps I stopped walking altogether. He seems unaffected, and continues to walk, dragging me behind like some rag doll. I pick up the pace and memorize the path we take to the best of my ability. Left, then right, up some steps, then right again. When he finally pauses outside a door I peer up at my captor for the first time.

He isn't wearing a clown mask, and I don't take this as a good sign. Quite the opposite, actually, I take this as a death sentence. He won't allow me to see his face unless he knows I won't be able to identify him later. But I'm thankful that he isn't the Joker. His hair is thick and blonde, but his stubble is almost black. His eyes are blood-shot and dart back and forth as if expecting someone to jump out with a chainsaw. His grip is frighteningly strong, and his fingers press into my skin deeper with each whimper that escapes my lips. He doesn't speak.

The suspense just about gives me a heart attack as we stand outside the door. He doesn't look at me once, but stands as if waiting for a signal. _You don't have to be brave_, I tell myself. _You just have to survive_.

Suddenly the man takes a deep breath and opens the door. I don't have warning of what's behind it but do not expect a kitchen. Well, kitchen is a stretch. It seems like a suitable fit for Hannibal Lecter, but I could never imagine a normal, sane person cooking in here. The lights hang from long rope and blow in the invisible wind, all the counters are gray and mold rots the corner of the refrigerator. A cabinet hangs off its hinges and spider webs occupy most corners. Everything just seems… wrong.

But the thing that really disturbs me is the chair in the middle of the room, just below a light, and the fact that my captor is pushing me towards this. My eyes scan the large room but it seems empty of life at first glance, besides a small mouse scampering along the floor. I feel like I've entered a Saw movie. My stomach drops like a stone and settles in my knees.

My fingers tingle and my arm looses feeling. I jerk it away forcefully and for a moment I am free, surprised at my own guts. I stop in shock and look at the five red and puffy bruises forming, matching his fingertips perfectly. Then I feel something collide painfully with my face. I fall to the floor and my skull seems to crack down the side. My hand flies to my temple and my fingers shake as I try and regain feeling in my head. The bastard punched me. I look at my hand and am relieved when there is no blood.

I try and stand up before I receive another blow to the head, but my trembling arms seem unable to support my weight. I give a dry sob as I collapse and try again. Suddenly I hear laughter from the doorway, stifled laughter, the kind that comes when one keeps their mouth closed.

"Don'_**t**_ kill our hostage ye_**t**_," the Joker says and enters the room. I fight my pain and stand on trembling knees. The Joker approaches me, his eyes locked with mine. I can't stand looking at him, any of him, so I look away uncertainly, not sure if averting my eyes will help save my life. "Why are you so, uh, scared? Is it my face? Hm_mmmm_? Is it the smile or… or the _scars?_"

He comes right up into my face. I could feel his warm breath on my skin, costing off my cheek and into my mouth. I shut it and keep my head turned away from him. His hand comes up and I flinch. He grabs my face and forces it towards him, squeezing my chin painfully. The other men leave the room and shut the door behind them. I suddenly feel extremely vulnerable and try to pull away. His grip gets tighter.

"You remind me of my sister, you know? She was a pretty little thing, just… like… you. _Was_. Until my father sliced her up piece my piece. She screamed and screamed, and he did nothing _but_ torture the girl, and laugh. And I watche_d_. Then, when she was finally dea_d_, he came at me, stuck a knife in my mouth, and…" He looks over my head as if remembering something rather amusing. His eyes seemed to smile even though his lips are pressed together in concentration. Then his story ends, although I can guess how it finishes. He throws me into the chair and it wobbles dangerously on impact. I glue my feet to the floor and keep my eyes on him, although my face is turned away. If I wasn't scared before, I am now.

"Emily, is i_t_?" he asks. I nod stiffly, but he's not looking. He walks towards a counter behind me, not giving me a second glance as he passes. My eyes dart to the door and I estimate the amount of time it would take to run there. It feels like extra blood is pumping to my legs, as if my body wants me to run as fast as I can, and get out of this hellhole. I suck in oxygen and hold it. My whole body is shaking at this point.

_What's the worst that'll happen if I get caught?_ I ask myself. _He'll kill me?_ Yet despite knowing that the worst that'll happen will probably happen no matter what I do, I can't bring myself to run.

"We are going to make a _l_ittle video," he says as if I'll find this a great idea. I bite my bottom lip and listen to his footsteps draw further away, then stop. I look at my feet, anticipating what will happen next. There is little _ding_, like a camera turning on, then he approaches again. I tense up. Soon he's once again in my line of vision, along with a small, hand-held camera.

He backs up a bit and points the camera at me. I look from left to right, waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows and yell _SURPRISE!_ When nobody does I gulp and stare intently at the camera lens.

"Tell them your name," he demands.

"Who?" I choke, my voice raspy. He looks at me from behind the camera and grins evilly.

"Everybody. They know you'_re _missing, your parents do too..." He doesn't say this in a way that shows he cares. No, it is more like… rubbing it in my face that I'm stuck her. I wonder if they're worried, my parents I mean. Then I do something that surprises even me; I laugh. It's a dry chuckle, not of amusement, but of resentment. I shake my head and looked down at my knees.

"Ok," I mumble, pretending I agree. I look up to the camera. In this little light I can see my reflection just barely. I look into my own eyes, hoping to see any faint glimmer of hope.

There is none.

"My n-name is Em-Emma Ponder." I look at the camera blankly, waiting for whatever comes next. He giggles.

"Why are you here?"

I feel the tears start up in my eyes. I refuse to let myself cry and the hot liquid sticks to my eyelashes, threatening to fall. "I don't know," I breathe. My eyes feel wider than usual and I doubtfully hope somebody will find me. Perhaps someone watching the video will recognize my surroundings.

"You don'_t_? Well, le_t_ me clarify this for you." He turns the camera away from me and puts it on his own face. "If Joan and Bill Ponder aren't dead in 48 hours, Emily Ponder's body will be found at the bottom of a lake." A gust of wind escapes my lips, causing a strand of hair to lift off my face momentarily. "The Joker's back, and the games have begun." He laughs hysterically and drops the camera. I gap at him. Fear rises up in my throat like bile.

"Why?" I manage after he settles down and turns the camera off.

"To make a poin_t_."

"Which is?" I sound as frightened as I feel. My voice raises several octaves.

"When it comes to survival these people will do _any_thing, including _murder_ their own child."

"You… You're not ex-exactly choosing the best family to test this experiment on!" I cry. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and smiles.

"Because…?"

I don't want to get into a therapy session with a psychopathic clown, so I shrug and look down, tears building up in my eyes. I can't stop them this time, and they pour down my cheeks and plop onto my jeans, leaving little tiny spots on my thighs. _This is it, the last two days of my life, and I have to spend them as a hostage to a sociopath_. The Joker chuckles.

"There's no use living if you won'_t, _uh, tell people what you're _think_ing," he hisses. I can tell he doesn't want to hear my problems. I think it's more of a batch of advice given to me for his own amusement. The corners of my mouth seem magnetized to my chin, because they continue to pull down. I wonder if I'll ever smile again.

The Joker turns away from me and opens the door. I watch him look left and right down the hall. "_Hmm_." He's annoyed, I can tell. He turns back to look at me then approaches slowly. I drop my eyes to the floor, occasionally glancing up to check his progress. I hear a faint click and I know what it is before I even look. It's the sound I heard years ago when I went up to visit my uncle for Halloween. My cousins and I would carve pumpkins with my uncle's pocketknife. We liked the _click_ it made when the knife came out.

He grabs my hair and pulls me up by it. I cry out in fear and pain and try to back away, but the sudden knife at my face stops me from squirming and I stand dead still. He smiles and breathes out through his nose, and a purple, gloved hand grabs my face and once again I am forced to look at him.

Many people would call me crazy, but when he grabs my face and I am mere inches away from him, my heart seems to throb and want to burst with longing. No, I'm not attracted to him. In fact, I find him repulsive, but he is touching me, he is roughly caressing my face, and I've never been held, or loved, or cared about. At least not as long as I can remember, not counting the occasional hug from an obnoxious friend. A fresh tear streams down my face at the thought of my lost Anna.

"You seem upse_t_."

_I wonder why,_ I think bitterly. My eyes travel down until the blade is in my vision. He isn't piercing the skin… yet, but the tip hovers on the corner of my mouth.

"Are you shy?" He looks down at my feet, then slowly back up. He stares at me through his eyelashes, and smiles. "Do you want to tal_k_?" I know he's being sarcastic about the whole thing. I give him the deadliest glare I possess. He laughs. I breathe angrily out my nose. I'm afraid to speak, worried that any movement and the knife will cut me.

I'm not shy. A shy person is timid, unsure, hesitant. I'm not any of those things. I'm not unsure about speaking, and I'll speak my mind if I think that's what's best, but in the long run I find it easier if people just don't talk and keep their opinions to themselves. What's the use in saying something if everyone will make a huge fuss out of it? Most of the time what people say is completely unnecessary, especially if someone's holding a knife to you.

"Hey," he says, as if trying to get my attention. I stare into his eyes, brown against green. My eyebrows pull together. He moves the knife away from my mouth and onto my throat. "Speak **t**o _me_." His words are more of a growl.

I take a deep breath, open my mouth, and speak my mind.

"If you want to make a point-t I would suggest picking a normal, f-functional family. Nobody will b-be surprised when two affluent egocentric people don't kill them… themselves to save a dysfunctional 16-year-old." My words quiver as I speak and my lips barely move. I wait for his reply nervously.

Then he laughs, high-pitched and cold. I don't think my words are funny in the least, and I feel anger boil in the pit of my stomach at his response to my statement. "That," he begins, a smile still playing on his lips, "is e_xact_ly my point."

_Great_. _So he was planning on killing me all along. This is why I prefer to remain silent. Some truths are better left unturned. Yet I still don't entirely understand his point…_

Suddenly there is talking on the other side of the door. The Joker removes the knife from my skin and pulls me by the wrist to the door. I am thankful to be leaving the kitchen, but nervous as to what waits on the other side. Light streams into the dim room and I am shoved through towards the people.

"Take her _bac__**k**_," Joker commands dangerously. A man grabs my already black-and-blue arm and begins pulling me back down the familiar hall. I can imagine where I am going next; back to the dark room with the soggy mattress where I'll spend the next 48 hours, possibly with no food or water, until I'll be taken out and murdered.

_Maybe __**somebody**__ will __kill__ my parents. Then, at least, I'll get to live._ I find this thought sickening, yet at the same time slightly comforting. I know the last thing they will do is kill themselves. I can practically hear their statements to the press after my corpse is found rotting away.

"We did all we could to find her, but our attempts, unfortunately, were unsuccessful. I know there is nothing more we could have done to help our poor Emily. Blah, blah, blah…"

But if somebody kills them… well, that is possible.

_No,_ I snap. _No thinking like this. Nobody will die… _I try my best to convince myself this is true,

Then I know what I have to do.

I have to leave.

* * *

**Dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn.**

**Please review! Next chapter coming soon!**


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